a good morning on the wrong side of the bed
by machu pikachu
Summary: sequel. dead bodies. oneshot.


somebody complained, so i guess i'm writing in the aftermath to Good Day Bad Day, here's hoping it doesn't become just another sequel that completely ruins the franchise

~#~

Temptation. Its been only a few hours really, since he brutally murdered what might have been the best pie maker on the planet, and for the first time he wants to kill not for the sake of attaining power, but because he just wants another dead person laid out in front of him. Needs it. It's not an urge he is familiar with, which sounds very strange given that his kill count has now reached the double digits, but true none the less.

He knows what the problem is. All of his other powers had been quick to develop, easy to test once he had left the scene and washed up. Some had been automatic, like the night vision. But this particular power required a dead body to test it on, and Sylar really didn't want to find a morgue or a hospital just to get one.

There would be cameras, and questions. Not a hassle he wanted to deal with in the middle of the night, after speeding down the empty highway and still riding an adrenaline high.

Neither was Sylar in the mood to desecrate any graves, that being one of the lines he refused to cross.

He wanted to kill someone only because he needed them dead, not because there was some internal force pushing him to kill. Well, not this time at least. All the other poor fools Sylar had killed were steps towards a goal, almost parts of a mission really. He kills them so he can take in their powers, become greater, stronger, better. Sylar was having a hard time justifying another murder tonight; he's only ever killed one normal person before, and the doctor would have stopped him from realizing his potential. This murder would have no logical reasoning behind it, yet still he wanted to kill.

It's ridiculous, there isn't even a target yet to wonder if its worth killing them just to take his new skill on a test run. He would be bringing them right back anyways, but there it is.

Doubt for the first time since Gabriel Grey had become Sylar.

~#~

It was a great sunny morning in Coeur d'Coeurs again when Chuck woke up bright and early in her new apartment. Earlier than she liked even, because it looked like her new roomy Olive was even more of a morning person than Ned, and less considerate about it.

Also, miraculously immune to the effects of a hangover, because nobody hung over whistles in the morning as they pick out clothes and flounce around the kitchen.

Chuck was still tired enough to stay in bed while her friend flitted about their shared and recently redecorated rooms. It had been a full day of shopping yesterday at three different malls. But it had been fun to hang out and buy new tablecloths and lamps and throw pillows and area rugs and a comfy chair and picture frames and matching rain coats, boots, and umbrellas just because they were really so cute on the both of them.

They completed their shopping expedition only after most of the stores in the mall had closed, and although both women meant to check in with their next door neighbor when they got back, Chuck thought Ned might want a little time to come to terms with her new need for space and Olive got very excited unpacking the bags and completely forgot. She was so excited that she declared an impromptu, two person 'drinks and decor' party that lasted well into the night.

~#~

It would be better to do this in a city, Sylar decided, if he was going to do anything at all. More people to choose from, less suspicious if one or two of them disappears. Greater numbers would be useful in demonstrating the unexpected side effect seemingly inherent in this power. And didn't that little catch hint at answers to abstract philosophical questions that Sylar had no current interest in.

He would probably need to kill who ever he ended up picking with a more conventional method than he typically preferred. These were not murders he wanted attached to his identity after all, and he knew that the Feds were already dogging his steps, though perhaps they didn't yet know who or what they were looking for.

Blow to the head maybe, he could probably steal a baseball bat or something equally cliché that the local police wouldn't look into very deeply. And Sylar could stand to take whatever cash was in their wallets, to imply a mugging.

It might be best to pick up five or six, for data comparisons. From a bar or nightclub would be good, he could lure in a whole group.

A grin over took his face as a plan took shape in his head. He would need to steal a different car...

~#~

Knock knock.

No answer.

It was still a little early for it, but Ned might already be downstairs baking.

Chuck tried the door knob and found it unlocked. That was a little careless of him she thought as she stepped into the apartment and greeted the very distressed Digby.

"Is he in there?" Olive called out from the hall way. She hoped so, because she wanted to show off her 'new' apartment and if Ned was downstairs already she would have to wait till after work.

"I think he's probably working already," Chuck said, absent-mindedly petting the golden retriever. "I'll be down in a bit."

Olive shrugged and smiled. "Okie-doke!" She whirled away to spring down the stairs to the bakery.

Chuck meanwhile gazed around the empty rooms that she come to call home and wondered how she had mustered up the courage to leave. She hadn't left very far, but still.

Screaming.

~#~

City with large population and lively night life. Check.

Stolen taxi. Check.

Four drunk yuppies. Check.

Abandoned half-constructed office building. Check.

Medical gloves. Check.

Two by four. Check.

~#~

Emerson Cod was angry at the crime scene. He didn't like being angry at a crime scene, it made him sloppy. Sure, crimes can make any man angry, and he's one of them, but not at the damn scene of the crime. This was not a crime scene he wanted to be angry at.

As much as he never liked to admit it out loud, that was his best friend whose blood was spilled, dripping and splattered in his own god-damned bakery. Emerson wanted nothing more than to have the sunovabitch and lay in to him, beat the man till he didn't know which way was up.

There wasn't much in the way of useful evidence that he could see, empty plate of pie and ice cream yielding no prints. But the fact that his friend's brain had been carved out was telling. At least it was telling that somebody had seen this and said the big shots needed to come in and deal with the next victim of a serial killer.

With the Feds on the case information would be restricted and his connections didn't run high enough to get him anything more than what ever the agents were willing to say. The fact that nobody had hired him to look into it didn't even give Emerson a good excuse to be snooping, so he couldn't abuse what little power he had for that. He didn't like abusing his own power to get into things, and he couldn't abuse Ned's anymore.

Shit.

~#~

WHACK!

Everybody in the room flinched. Three of the yuppies jerked their heads away in horror from where they were tied down to support beams at even intervals. Sylar flinched at the noise, which he had expected to be quieter, because the echo of the impact was incredible. The fourth yuppie flinched so hard his neck snapped.

But that was probably the blunt force.

This first test would ascertain the kind of motor control undead with spinal injuries could retain, as well as the amount of time it took to initiate life after primary touch, then an outside death after primary touch.

Sylar reached out his gloved hand to check for vital sings before he jumped in. As long as this was being done scientifically, it would be best to rule out erroneous results in the control test.

~#~

It wasn't raining at this funeral. It was just another beautiful perfect sunny day with a pleasant breeze and a pretty blue sky, just like the weather man said it would be.

Olive so wanted it to be raining as much as she was crying right now. But it wasn't raining and it wasn't going to rain so she sobbed harder against Chuck's shoulder as her own shoulder received the same treatment.

She and Chuck had said they would be strong for each other at the grave side, and strong for Digby, who didn't deserve to have his friend taken away like this. They had both been barely holding together when the ceremony started, but then Digby started howling and Olive started shaking and Chuck started sobbing and it was all they could do to remain standing up as Ned was lowered into the ground.

~#~

He leaves the scene of the crime.

He leaves four broken bodies behind, beaten and bloodied, bruised and bound.

He leaves with a little over a hundred dollars in his wallet, and a gift card for Starbucks.

He leaves with a thorough understanding of his new power.

He leaves with a smile on his face.

Sylar leaves the scene of one crime eager for the next.

~#~


End file.
